Coming Soon! Expected Publication Date is July 1, 2025
Imagine if Bill Nye the Science Guy and Monty Python teamed up to host a TED Talk... while drunk... at a theology convention... in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. Then you'd land smack in the middle of this loony book: "Crossing the God Line, What Frankenstein Knew that Darwin Didn't."
This book doesn't ask "Where did we come from?" so much as it kicks that question in the shins and shouts, "Are you sure about that, Darwin?" Armed with equal parts curiosity, sarcasm, and a suspicious amount of caffeine, the author drags readers on a whirlwind safari through human development, evolution, entropy, and the uncomfortable truth that assembling a conscious meat-suit from cosmic leftovers might not be as straightforward as a biology textbook suggests.
You'll meet atoms trying to date, molecules with commitment issues, and proteins badly assembling themselves like IKEA furniture with some pieces missing. You'll visit Frankenstein's lab, where the good doctor may have had a better handle on the perils of playing God than we give him credit for. And you'll stare down the cold, logical barrel of the Path of Least Resistance and ask: "If the universe is really that lazy, how the heck did we get here?"
But don't worry, this isn't a lecture. It's a late-night bar argument between science and philosophy, refereed by a confused bartender with a philosophy minor and a hangover. Expect laugh-out-loud moments, eyebrow-raising observations, and a creeping suspicion that life might be a cosmic prank with surprisingly good punchlines.
Whether you're a devout believer, a hardened atheist, or someone who just likes poking holes in sacred cows with a marshmallow stick, "Crossing the God Line" invites you to question everything--especially the idea that we actually know what we're talking about.
Spoiler alert: we probably don't.
Excerpt from Chapter 1
What is Carbon and Why Does it Matter?
Somewhere in the universe right now, there’s a carbon atom doing something terribly unremarkable. Perhaps it’s buried deep in a hunk of coal, sitting quietly in the dark like a retired gym teacher, waiting for a school bell that will never ring. Or maybe it’s floating effortlessly through a cloud of cigar smoke on its way to an appointment with a ceiling fan, contemplating the complexities of existential dread while simultaneously grasping none of it. It could be riding on a flea’s butt, its life a series of aimless wanderings, lacking any real direction, like a lost tourist without a map or, better yet, a well-meaning friend who just cannot be bothered to pull out their GPS. One thing's for sure: this unassuming little atom has absolutely no idea what it's doing.
Carbon, bless its elemental heart, doesn’t think. It doesn’t know. It doesn’t plan for the future—probably because it can’t even contemplate such elevated concepts as “future.” It has no brain, remember? It just exists—a nucleus with six protons, six neutrons, and six electrons swirling around it—an atom happily minding its own business. Occasionally, it’ll make a cameo appearance in a textbook, perhaps during a 9th-grade science class, usually eliciting eye rolls from impatient students pontificating that this will never matter—unaware of the irony there—or if ever they’ll use this knowledge in “real life”, or if they’ll even remember it five minutes after the pop quiz.
But here’s the kicker: despite its brainless simplicity, this little atom ends up as part of your flesh, maybe even in your own brain. That’s right! This innocent, lifeless, tiny chunk of matter plays a role in forming neurons, firing off synapses, writing poetry that could make grown men weep, building mobile apps that help people find the best vegan taco in town, and building complex quantum slipstream engines that allow us to escape the confines of our existence and explore the infinite possibilities through the multiverse portal. Okay, maybe not that last part, but you get the gist.
And this is the delightful paradox, the ultimate mystery that launches this whimsical excursion through the cosmos: How does a non-living, inanimate, cognitively vacant piece of matter—a mere carbon atom—find its way into a living, breathing, self-aware being that frets about paying taxes, ponders the nature of self-existence, contemplates life on Mars, and questions whether God might be real or merely a divine figment woven from the fabric of our collective imagination?
This moment—when our ignorant little atomic friend crosses from the realm of the simple, meaningless piece of tiny matter into the captivating world of conscious thought and living flesh—is The God Line.